


Psych: Prologue:

by Lalouer



Series: Liberte' [2]
Category: Joan Ferguson - Fandom, Wentworth - Fandom
Genre: Alternate Universe - Prison, F/F, Maternal Instinct, POV Queer Character, Psychologists & Psychiatrists, Queer Themes, Threats of Violence, Wentworth - Freeform, Wentworth Correctional Centre
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-01
Updated: 2020-10-01
Packaged: 2021-03-08 01:42:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,182
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26747530
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lalouer/pseuds/Lalouer
Summary: After a counselling session with Wentworth's Dr Bridget Westfall: Lyon Lyov encounters Joan Ferguson in the showers and is oblivious to the real threat.
Relationships: Franky Doyle/Bridget Westfall, Joan Ferguson/Original Female Character(s)
Series: Liberte' [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1709473
Kudos: 11





	Psych: Prologue:

**Author's Note:**

> This prequel chapter will offer some insight to the character of Lyon. I'm trying to articulate her so that she's made fit for the universe of Wentworth. Lyon is a key player in the game of Joan Ferguson, and quite possibly causes some disorder. However, I'm trying to keep to the "world" as much as I can. I'm pleased to share that 'Liberte' is going ahead with all the new info we've witnessed in season 8.  
> Stay tuned. xx  
> ( Also, there mentions of violence, rape, mental health, counselling, hints of trauma and trafficking. This may be heavy, so please take care when reading if this is heavy for you lovelies.)

“ **Pull it together.** ” Bridget Westfall wiped her tears in the bathroom stall. She knew that a hangover would result from drowned woes. Wine was last night’s remedy, coffee was this morning’s. In her rush to get ready, grabbing the nearest pair of slacks and throwing on a leather jacket over her bra; she realized, in the car park, that the zips were now lost in her partner’s cell. Bridget stows safety pins in the glove compartment for emergencies. If only she had some for Franky and her self-sabotaging ways. Franky meant to hurt Bridget, but no one can understand this better than Dr Bridget Westfall. She and Franky slipped past one another near the elevator. Bridget’s unsure of Franky’s next step but her work can’t take the backseat any longer. Trailing the long corridor down to her office, someone waited for her.

Upon arrival, Bridget recalled the changes to today’s schedule, still waiting for the kick of caffeine. She couldn’t remember all the information about Allyona Lyov on file. Everything needed to be brought up to Bridget’s speed. Although, she’s worked in mental health long enough that her professionalism fueled her no matter her personal affairs. Entering in she was’ surprised to see a young woman comfortably waiting, sitting in one of the chairs.

“ **Ah, you must be Allyona. I’m Miss Westfall** ” Bridget offered her best working smile.

“ **Hi Miss Westfall. I’m Lyon by the way**.”

“ **Sorry I’m late, Lyon, I’m just going to double check some notes sent in by Dr Thakur**.” Bridget poured over the references and history of Lyon.

“ **Sentenced at seventeen, retrial upcoming, protested wrongful imprisonment on the basis of conspiracy. Acquittal upcoming...** ” Bridget lightly flipped over another page.

“ **Gave birth to a child fathered by a corrections officer six years ago in custody…** ” Bridget looked back up to Lyon. _She’s younger than Franky…_ she thought.

“ **Lyon has been prone to violence, in the past, but she does not display any mal-intent despite severely injuring others in her claims of self-defence.** ” Bridget looked over to the young woman. One leg crossed over the other, wearing a hooker’s green button up blouse tucked into black high-waist skinny jeans and Black boots. Lyon’s amber blonde hair is braided messily and intricately. A _t least one of us got ready…_

Lyon didn’t appear to be the woman Bridget pictured when reading her case file. As she stood behind her desk, file in hand, Bridget drew links that paralleled Lyon’s case and Franky. Two completely different individuals, entirely different cases and crimes. Both protesting their innocence and pushing those they love away.

_**Lyon {** _

_I’ve been seeing a prison psych for three years. It’s helped more than I’ll admit._

_I applauded Dr Thakur for her professionalism and counselling. The woman saw beyond the tip of this iceberg. After the progress we made, I was torn about ongoing therapy, especially with the transfer and a new shrink. But, if my retrial fails, I’ll need some kind of safety net for my sanity. I don’t want to think about spending another six years behind bars. If I’m meant to live out the sentence then I’m sure Dr Westfall is going to hear all about it._

_So I thought I’d check her out. Pun intended…_

“ **Apologies for the wait, I hope I didn’t keep you**.” We share a neutral grin. If she’s as good as she looks, she can keep me anytime.

“ **You’re an interesting woman.** ” Doctor Westfall walks over and sits down in the chair facing me, her smile forced and plastered on. Her blue eyes are reddened and moist in the tear duct. Sad women can be beautiful. She readjusts her collar and I can’t help but notice the ‘safety pins’ holding her jacket together. It’s quite nice but the punk vibe doesn’t seem to be her style.

“ **Thank you; it’s been a while since a gorgeous woman complimented me**.” _Lesbi-honest_.

Dr Westfall harshly clears her throat in response.

Her office is that typical cosy-clinic chic. Much like the guidance counsellor’s room you’d visit back in high school due to bouts of teen anxiety, bitchy cliques, or depressive sonnets. The emotional torment of prison is reductively akin to high school. Which sounds ridiculous, especially from an inmate but the social dynamics could be similar. You either keep to yourself, or make alliances, and fight or flight is inevitable in any given relationship. Many of us would testify to that. Don’t get me started on being at the top or bottom of the food chain.

“ **What can I do for you? Actually, how are you settling in?** ”

“I **’m all right. It’s lovely to see the rain.** ” Queensland is the sunny state but it was humid and barren at Blackmoore. The last five years have been a dry spell. I suppose I could explore the waters while I’m here. Dr Westfall is undeniably an attractive woman. Best face I’ve seen in Wentworth by far. That Franky chick is a close second but there’s something volatile about her. Two women in love is glorious, two bitches clashing is a domestic waiting to happen.

“ **I’m enjoying the change of scenery**.” I hear droplets on the roof starting.

“ **I’m sorry to hear about your Grandfather’s passing. Your visitation request was denied**?” He died the same day I was meant to be transferred and well everything else has been delayed.

“ **He wasn’t alone. That’s the main thing. Still, it would have been good to see him and spend his last days with him.** ” I clench my teeth as I smile and fidget with my hands. When he moved here after his diagnosis, to be near Val and Kemper; it was sad not being able to see him again. But he had family with him, that’s all that mattered. Apparently my form submission was delayed but everything was on schedule from my end. It was probably a systemic error. I keep telling myself that and whether that’s the truth or not, my Ded is gone.

“ **I can only imagine how difficult things must have been for you both.** ” I nod to Miss Westfall’s statement. He gave up every part of himself so that he couldn’t lose me. Instead, I lost him.

“ **When I was trafficked he contacted the authorities. They didn’t believe him, but he never gave up on me.** ”

“ **I’m sorry**.” She sorrowfully replies.

I shrug my shoulders and offer a blasé smile. _What can you do?_

“ **Relationships are extremely important to you aren’t they Lyon**?” So far she seems straight forward. But Dr Westfall doesn’t seem as altogether-at least not today- as I presumed. I’m use to a slow burn before getting into the fry pan and then the boiling pot.

I squint at her as my eyes adjust to the sudden overcasting light from behind her. “ **They’re pretty important** ”. I bite my lower lip and lightly chuckle.

“ **Personally and professionally**?” I widen my eyes and sigh out a harsh laugh. Some of my most public mistakes were in that file she read. Some. I need some secrets kept for myself.

“ **Family is everything to you. No matter your circumstances, you’ve gone to lengths to ensure the livelihood of those you care you about. That’s loyalty. You were open about having inmates pay you for intimacy and sending the earnings to your Grandfather."**

There’s a light shower outside. I heard a storm was forecast.

“ **You can say it; I was the prison prostitute. It was the only work I’d known and I think it prevented some things...** ” I freeze a moment and retrain my trail of thought. I try to make light of it by making others uncomfortable with my blatancy. Miss Westfall rolls her shoulders and lengthens her neck.

“ **I always sent Ded half of my earnings, even before prison- to let him know I was alive.** ” I thought it’d help him with bills, meds, groceries…etc. I’d picture his shaky hands holding the cash and envelope, staring at them with disgust and relief. He never spent it. I’ve willed that half is Val’s inheritance. I thought it’d take a few sessions for Miss Westfall and me to go down this road. Yet, here we are. Bernard Shaw, the famous playwright, mentioned the travesty of women in his lifetime being forced to work with humanity’s vices. I’d suspect some things might’ve changed since then…

“ **I never wanted to be a prostitute. Sex work is a valid form of work however that’s chosen. Prostitution isn’t it’s enforced. The kind of stuff I was a part of, it’s survival. I know that better than anyone in here.** ” I’m sure there are more women in this prison with similar experiences and outcomes. I suppose it’s humbling.

“ **I spent my twenty-first in Prison. I decided then that life was too short to be deprived of screwing for my own pleasure and gain.** ” My relationship with sex is complicated. I enjoy it, but I’m marked by the potentially financial transaction of it. I can shut myself off. However, if I’m attracted to someone, I’ll hide it until my animalistic needs claw out. At least that’s how it was with Kemper and all the women before and after our little rendezvous. I also experienced something else that I wish I could shut off. I met someone who is formidable, dark, but I’m pulled by their gravity. I was drawn to her and in some ways I still am now. I’m sure some bigger force is laughing at the two of us…

“ **Everything you’ve done is for the good of others and yourself.** ” She makes me sound altruistic.

“ **We have to ensure our safety mask is on before we assist others.** ” Miss Westfall uncrosses her legs, holds her hands and leans forward.

“ **I’d like to pick up where you and Dr Thakur left off.** ” I remember the exchange. Ded wasn’t the only reason I transferred, my trial was mainly to do with it. I suppose I thought that by us settling in his Dandenong property, another part of me would be close by.

“ **How old is your daughter?** ” I press my lips tightly together. I could spill everything here but I’d make a mess.

Pursing my lips out, I say “ **She’ll be six at the end of the year.** ” I count the days like I did for all her newborn toes and fingers.

“ **Can you tell me about her?** ” I suppose. There’s nothing much to say.

“ **It’s not like I raised her. She’s loved and has everything a child needs. Stability, a loving family and a home.** ” Everything I’ve ever wanted for a child of mine.

“ **When was the last time you saw her?** ”

“ **Six years ago; when I gave my parental rights over to the father.** ”

The last memory of me singing Val to sleep serenades me contagiously. Kemper was meant to pick her up from the hospital but she was three weeks premature. He couldn’t get time off from his new job. I had to return to Blackmoor with a newborn and care for her: It was the one phase in my life I can call bliss. I didn’t get to hand her over; it had to be the Governor and assisting officers. I couldn’t see Kemper or say one last goodbye to my little girl. That’s one reason-out of many- for my hostility towards Joan. I’m sure she patronized Kemper in her own way when he took Val. But, when I left the Governor’s office, I could’ve sworn I’d heard Joan soothing my baby. Humming her to sleep. It was nice, I’ll admit.

“ **You have no contact with your daughter?** ”

“ **No.** ”

“ **You don’t miss her?** ” This question seemed unbelievable to Miss Westfall who was asking it.

“ **I don’t.** ” I lie. I hold my chest every night as I picture her golden head of waves resting against my heart.

“ **I have no regrets.** ” I swallow hard and watch the rain beginning to intensify. Deputy Watkins held me against the wall as Val became distant and my crying became louder. I can’t remember my violent episode but it earned me a week in the slot, followed by another week involving another punch out incident. I don’t think anything overcame me. I just started exorcising my demons. Miss Westfall is looking back at me, earnestly. It doesn’t feel pathetic, it’s kind of comforting. The best psych’s have accurate bullshit meters. I wonder what she gets from me.

“ **On record you’ve spoken about how you’d wished circumstances were different. Has your mind changed?** ” Romanticizing a life in contrast to mine is like looking at an impressionist painting. It’s portrayed in a beautifully put manner, relatable to reality, but highlighting it in luminosity. So of course I daydream of not being in jail, living off-grid, my baby by my side. But you know whatever images come to mind, I enjoy it before remembering its fantasy. The truth is: if I didn’t go to prison, I wouldn’t have had her.

“ **Not anymore. I can live without Val, but I can’t imagine not having her.** ” _The perfect contradiction_.

“ **Would you like to have a relationship with her?** ”

“ **No.** ” Dr Westfall raises her brows in surprise. Her bullshit metre is pretty accurate.

“ **I don’t know. Maybe, if…** ” I don’t finish my sentence. I wonder about this a lot. _I don’t want to fuck up her life_.

“ **You know what I think?** ” I tilt my head looking directly into those baby blues of Miss Westfall’s. I loosen my braid.

“ **I think you made the right decision for your daughter. I also think she’s everything to you.** ” I shift in my seat a little as Dr Westfall remarks her suspicions. She’s right. I let my hair down and place the hair band around my wrist and sink back into the chair.

“ **I also think you’re a good person.** ” Good people aren’t necessarily innocent.

“ **I appreciate that, but I wouldn’t trust myself.** ” It’s a dog eat dog world in here. If you can’t beat em, join em. If that doesn’t work…you fuck em.

\---------------------

For the rest of the session, I settled with Miss Westfall. I talked about my first night of incarceration and she looked on the verge of tears. I don’t think I had anything to do with that. It’s my third day here in Wentworth. Home sweet Home, for now at least. This place is a birdcage. No songbirds, it’s mainly Cock-a-toos shatting and cussing left right and centre. Eagles are in sight but I’m not sure I’d fuck with them. It’s the vultures, who are dominant here despite the hierarchy; I prefer circling the outskirts.

I feel transcendent walking out of counselling. The physical and emotional consequences differ depending on the session. I can’t stop thinking about Valeria, especially when I was pregnant with her. I felt safe having someone apart of me. She was an active egg too. I looked outrageous in my uniform. A navy blue utility suit, when I hit six months I graduated to the white singlet and navy trackies. The drawstring made space for growth. Aside from growing a person, I was excited for the maturation of my body. I was a twig with mosquitos. Post-pregnancy, I’d finally peaked; I was softer, my bra size tripled and I’d finally grown an arse. Needless to say business was at an all-time high-possibly to my absence during pregnancy and three months postpartum. The questionably caloric prison food came in handy, along with consistent strength training; my newly grown femininities were maintained and I developed undeniable strength to fight for.

I reach my cell to grab what I need so I can shower. I replace my boots for the shower sandals. If the block is crowded, I’ll wait. I grab my toiletries bag, checking everything in there: my travel bottles full of face and body cleanser, shampoo and conditioner, moisturizers and I have a cheeky little rosehip oil. I also take my cosmetic bag as I’ll probably re-do some makeup. Quality skincare and cosmetics are a luxury. I can afford them and gratefully Ded had sent me backups (before he passed) I’ve yet to touch. Someone comes near my cell-you know the feeling- when I’m grabbing my towel, I see “Juice” standing by my door. I know her kind. I have nothing but disgust for them...

“ **I heard you were quite the shaggy-doo before you became Madam Top Dog of Blackmoor.** ” She says. Prison scum is obvious. No one needs a crew unless you’re top dog, dealing drugs or gang raping. Three days is enough to know who’s who. So I don’t say anything. I wonder how Kaz’s “No violence results in violence” policy protects Juice and her gang?

“ **No matter the cost, I’ll have my way with you.** ” I turn to go out the door and she steps in my way sneering at me as if I’m some dark forbidden fruit, hers for the taking.

“ **We’re all pink underneath, even if you’re not exactly my type, you’d be better with more cushioning but you got tits, ass, and a pretty kitty, no doubt. I’ve been with a Slav, real whippersnapper and she’d make Putin scream.** ” My mouth gapes in shock at her. An absolute charmer, this one.

I find my voice. “ **I’d rather suck Putin than kiss your ass.** ” Over my cremated ashes.

“ **See you soon, love.** ” I hear her utter as I leave.

“ **I’m not your love.** ” I murmur, mainly to myself.

I make it to the showers uninterrupted. No one’s waiting outside, and it looks like only one other person’s in there. If it comes down to it I could take them. I enter in and go to the wooden bench just below the hangers. I don’t trust leaving my unit and returning in my robe, due to the company. I bought a spare change of clothes with me. I’ll do my makeup again. It’s no chore applying makeup; it's cathartic for me. I keep it simple. My acne disappeared during pregnancy. I have dark long curly lashes, naturally thick brows (thanks to my parents-specifically my Lebanese heritage), and my lips are naturally pigmented. I’m no beauty, but I got a face and a body, I’d like to not be revolted looking into reflective surfaces.

I take off my slippers and put them on the bench. I undo my jeans, fold them and put them under my shoes; I do the same for my top. My lingerie I’ll remove carefully. Sometimes I shower in my panties, or a bikini (Ever since my first night in general) I shower naked only if I’m on my own or I’m not threatened by whoever it is that’s in here.I reach behind to undo my bra. I can’t quite get it. I’m tempted to ask the person for a hand but I manage to unhook it. I won’t hang it (out of fear it's stolen-it’s happened), instead I place it over my slippers. I stretch the waistband of my underwear and it whips back right when I feel someone from behind me.

“ **Would you like some help?** ” My hands cover my breasts as I turn to Joan wrapping a towel around herself. I try not to look down. I won’t say anything.

“ **How did you like our Sapphic psychologist? Miss Westfall also has a history of mingling in forbidden waters** ” _Hypocrite_.Her cheekbone is still bruised; I hope my hand helped that. I smirk at the thought.

“ **If it’s a three-way you want, I’m out of business.** ” words can betray thoughts. My eyes hold her stare. This isn’t new to me and yet my body’s forgotten some things that it’s beginning to remember.

“ **You and I left things on the wrong foot.** ” Her voice does that husky thing when she’s dangling daggers overhead. My fingers tighten over the tissue of my breasts. I step away from Joan a bit.

“ **If you don’t watch it my foot will...** ” She gets closer, her face inching towards mine.

“ **I’d love to see you try.** ” She hisses at me. I sigh heavily with defeat. I’ll always remember the blood from my nose after she backhanded me. Joan can’t handle the truth and yet she berates anyone who doesn’t see her version of it.

“ **Whatever we had ended with Yardii…** ” speaking her name makes me stop before I get emotional. “ **Also, stop lurking near my cell!** ” I throw my hands down and point my index finger to her. I don’t even care that I’m topless now. She’s seen me naked many times before, why should I be intimidated now?

“ **Your cell is across from mine and next to the kitchenette. Someone’s got to put the kettle on.** ” Those eyes like eclipsed moons must have something to be aligned with. They travel ever so slightly over me. I’ve had this power over her. But, I promised myself I wouldn’t. Droplets of water fall from the ends of her hair and onto her collarbone.

“ **By the way, I heard about your little pet name. What is it they call you in here? The creep?** ” Her mouth fights a sneer and I know what her response will be.

“ **Ha**.” _There it is_. The sarcastic monotonous syllable of laughter. I snort and hold my stomach to restrain a bout of laughter. She rolls her eyes as I smile in achievement. “I **heard your legal team are gathering evidence?** ” I stop. 

“ **I have something.** ” Whatever she wants to offer is either a gloat or a lie.

“ **Why didn’t you have give it to me in Blackmoor when I was a kid?”**

“ **You really need to stop sinking in the past and swim in the present. Listen to me…** ”

I wave her off for the second time. I get in the shower, yank the curtain behind me and turn on the water. A blast of chilled water hits me from my head. It’ll take a moment to heat, I feel Joan’s grasp on my wrist and with her strength she twists me around to her. Holding both of my wrists, she pins me against the wall. I could spit on her. But I don’t, I listen.

“ **Enemy of my enemy…** ” It takes me a moment to understand what she’s saying. I shake my head disgruntledly. She lifts her brows as she looks down on me. Letting go of me, I don’t move. I stay and stare into the dark whirlpool of Joan’s eyes. Hypnotized by the nonsense she’ll spew.

“ **The GM of Wentworth is corrupt. He’s a brothel-owning pimp. Derek Channing.** ” I tilt my head away from the running water. I straighten myself up. I’ve heard of him, ‘Golden Showers’ is what he’s called.

“ **My case has nothing to do with him**.” I remove my underwear and place it over the ledge of the shower cubicle. Joan tries to hide her surprise at my sudden candour. So am I. I turn my back to her, swing my hair to the side, and start washing my face.

“ **He had connections to the brothel that your aunt owned.** ” _He what?_ My head leans into the water, some of it goes through my ears and drowns out all the noise. I see Joan's sincerity through the washings of it.

_She’s telling the truth._

_This much I know._

Joan places her hands on my shoulders. Her mouth brushes against my earlobe, her breath kissing me. “ **I’ll scratch your back…** ” I’m breathing more heavily than before.

_Do I enjoy the scars that Joan Ferguson has left behind?_

“ ** _Quid pro Quo?_ ”** I’m terrible at lying to myself. I suppose I inherited my Ded’s greatest virtue, and have managed to warp it. I feel Joan’s head nod, and her nose nuzzles my cheek. I don’t flinch.

“ **I won’t...** ” I sigh in disbelief.

“ **You will.** ” I become so engrossed into my own thoughts that by the time I turn around to offer her ‘my proposition’ she’s not there anymore.

When I’m trying to make sense of everything, I’m hit on the back of my head and knocked to the shower floor.

I see flashes of bloodied water. My naked limbs are being manipulated by unknown force. Something enters me without warning. I scream as furiously loud as I can...and then I blackout.

When I awake, frightened, I’m comforted by the softness of my pillow. A quilt covers my bare body. No light peers through the window. The sun's gone now, it must be night. Time is not the least of my concern now. I try to pick myself up. I wince and moan. My arse hurts but my knees and elbows have been bandaged. My hand shoots to my head, I'm dizzy but only from sudden movement. And shock no doubt. I haven't blacked out from an attack in years. 

_Someone ganged up on me and then somebody else returned me to my cell._

It’s loud tonight but I can hear a figure just outside my door. I twist my head to catch their glimspe through the pane of glass, but all I see is a shadowed figure leaving.

_I don’t believe in ghosts, but how else does the past catch up to you?_

**Author's Note:**

> Hello lovelies!  
> Thank you for reading. I hope everyone is well and safe at this time. My thoughts and love go out to everyone.  
> Season 8 just finished and I am BOWLED over by that finale! It's bittersweet considering the ninth will be the final installment.  
> I know I'm not the only one who wishes it to continue. All the characters have a struck chord with some of us, one particular being Joan Ferguson. I have my own thoughts on the development of her character, and I suppose my writing this story will allow an exploration in a somewhat alternate dimension. Particularly in a relationship with a character such as Lyon.  
> Anyways. 
> 
> If you have any criticisms; with the counselling session, the mention of certain topics, or anything to say about this, or anything to ask, feel free to add your input or questions. I only hope I handled these themes with care. 
> 
> Also If you have any THEORIES, thoughts, or feelings about the current season/next season, or in particular Joan's journey or questions about Lyon. I would LOVE to hear them and discuss.  
> Take care. xx


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